“Did you hear anyone talking about anything like that?” Butch asked suspiciously.
Shades shook his head. “Nope. I don’t think nobody planned it. It’s more like they got bored cuz there’s no dames here or nothing and just took off when they had a chance.”
Butch nodded and asked, “What about you? Are you bored?”
“We’ve done better parties than this one,” Shades admitted with a grin. “You can’t say that ain’t true.”
“What do you think, Razor?” asked Butch.
“I don’t want to piss you off again,” Razor replied, “But it’s pretty much what I said before, kinda like what Shades just said.”
“Same here,” said Fingers. “This is getting kinda lame. It woulda been great with some ladies to mess with but that didn’t happen.”
“I hear you,” Butch agreed with some reluctance. “I just don’t like it when things don’t go like I planned and this got screwed up big time. Keep an eye on these idiots while I go take a leak and think about what we should do.”
He started moving out of the dining room then stopped, turned back and headed toward the area behind Chris. Once close enough, he swung a heavy-booted foot up, kicking Chris in the kidney through the open-backed chair, causing his captive to gasp in pain.
“That’s for calling me a moron before, shit-head,” he said before leaving the room.
Chapter 20
Saturday - 7:58 p.m.
“Damn, I wish we could hear what they’re saying,” Josée grumbled, watching the iPad over Dominique’s shoulder.
“It certainly would be helpful,” Cathy agreed.
“It doesn’t really matter anymore,” said Leslie as she entered the sunroom with Sandy. “They’re down to four and seem to have decided to hole up inside. The sun will be going down in half an hour so it’s time to head over. We’ll be going slow and quiet so nightfall will be settling in by the time we get there.”
“What exactly is the plan?” asked Cathy.
“Dominique will stay here to keep up video surveillance and she’ll be live with us by phone. Thank God for Bluetooths and conference calls,” Leslie replied as she set down a case she had brought in from the dining room. “The rest of us will go over and deal with the four remaining bozos. How we do that will depend on where they are and what they’re doing when we get there. That’s the best I can come up with for now.”
“Got it,” said Cathy. “What’s in the case?”
“Crossbow,” Leslie replied. “I wish we had more than one but we don’t. Ideally, anyone we have to take down outside will be with this. If anyone does have to use a gun before we get inside, make it a .22 as much as possible to keep noise to a minimum. I grabbed one for each of us. That’s all I have for now. Any questions?”
“The men downstairs can’t get out?” asked Dominique.
Leslie shook her head. “They’re zip-tied and the door is locked. You’re safe, sweetheart.”
“Merci,” said Dominique.
“De rien,” Leslie replied. “Now, let’s get geared up and go put these assholes out of their misery, once and for all.”
* * * *
Upon returning to the dining room with a bottle of Grand Marnier in hand, Butch beckoned Razor into the kitchen and invited him to sit while he poured them each a healthy shot of the orange-flavoured liqueur.
“I wanted to say sorry for blowing up at you outside,” said Butch as he sat, keeping his voice low. “I just lost it with all this shit going on but you were right. It’s time for us to get the hell out of here. Something’s wrong with this place and I have a feeling if we stick around much longer, we’re gonna disappear too.”
“What do you think is going on?” asked Razor, not really having considered that his life might be at risk.
“I don’t know if one of these guys hit a secret alarm somewhere or what,” Butch replied. “But I don’t believe seven of my crew just upped and left. Not after everything we’ve been through and done together plus everything I’ve done for them. Guys like Rat and Dibs been with me from the start and they wouldn’t fuck me over. I guess sending some of the boys out searching alone wasn’t the best idea but I didn’t know anything was wrong then.”
“So, what should we do now?” asked Razor. “You got a plan?”
“The four of us are going to leave together, that’s for sure,” Butch replied. “Dibs and Smokie had our trucks and my bike’s all smashed up but we’ll take one of these guys’ car cuz they won’t be needing them anyway.”
“What about Ape and Olly?” asked Razor, thinking, “And your bike?”
“What about all that?” Butch asked, puzzled and annoyed. “Them two are dead and my bike’s totaled.”
“Cops is gonna show up here sooner or later, Butch,” Razor explained. “If they figure out who Ape and Olly are, that might lead them back to us. Same thing with your bike.”
“Shit,” muttered Butch. “I’m not even thinking straight with all this crap. Okay, we’ll need to bring the bike so we’ll have to use a truck. That cop’s truck is dinged up pretty good but I think it’ll still run. Otherwise, we’ll grab one of Barry’s cars in the garage. Hell, we can dump the bike in the lake if we have to. It’s not like I can get it fixed.”
“What about Ape and Olly?” Razor repeated. “What do we do with them?”
Butch smiled and said, “I want us to torch this place like I did last week in Brighton. We’ll just make sure Ape and Olly are close to the heat.”
Razor grimaced at the thought. “I guess you’re right. We can’t be driving around with a couple of stiffs.”
“Especially in a stolen car,” Butch added. “We’re gonna have to get moving with this pretty quick. Go out and have a look at the cop’s truck. If it’s too fucked up, check what cars we can use in the garage. While you’re there, find some gas and any other shit we can use to get this place burning good. I had some gas cans in the Suburban but that’s gone so you gotta find me something.”
“Uh, I’m not sure I want to go out there alone, Butch,” Razor replied, the fear visible in his eyes. “Everyone else that disappeared was gone somewhere alone.”
“Aww, don’t start with that whiny crap,” Butch replied, rolling his eyes. “You’re just going out in front of the damned house and to the garage.”
“I know, but still,” Razor argued. “If someone is out there, I might get shot or something. Look at Olly. He got run down right in the front yard.”
“So, keep your damned eyes open,” Butch retorted. “You got a gun. If someone comes at you, use it. Don’t wuss out on me now, Razor. We need wheels to get out of here and I have to sit down with Shades and Fingers and bring them up to speed.”
“Damn, I don’t like it,” Razor muttered. “I’m gonna get myself killed out there.”
“No, you won’t, dammit. Just go and get it done,” Butch ordered, pushing back his chair as he stood, indicating their meeting was over. “I’ll tell Fingers what the plan is and I’ll send him out to help you in a couple of minutes. Now, get out there.”
Chapter 21
Saturday - 8:18 p.m.
Depending on a number of factors including draw weight and length of power stroke, crossbows can shoot arrows, or bolts as they are generally referred to, at speeds exceeding four hundred feet per second. However, crossbows capable of delivering this velocity level tend to be bigger, heavier and more cumbersome to manipulate.
Sacrificing some power in exchange for compactness and portability, the Panzer V which Leslie carried measured under thirty-four inches in length, weighed less than six pounds and had a power stroke of just over nine inches, yet would still launch an eighteen inch bolt at a speed of two hundred sixty feet per second.
While they had crossed the wooded area from the neighbor’s house to the Barry home, Dominique had informed Leslie that one of the men had gone out front, first examining Dave’s SUV for several moments before heading into the open garage all while nervously trying to glance
everywhere at once with gun in hand.
Having asked the others to wait in the woods at the edge of the property, Leslie had moved forward through the heavy growth of conifers which spanned the front of the lot until she had a clear view of the front of the garage. Through its open doors, she could see the young shaved-headed man rummaging around in the far corner beyond where Chris kept his ATVs, snowmobiles and motorcycles.
Another minute or so went by before he emerged from the garage with two apparently full ten gallon gasoline canisters. Putting one down, he hurried along the front of the house, lugging the other with his left hand, his right still clutching his gun. Setting the canister on the walk near the front door he turned and headed back to the garage to get the second. As he returned with the other canister, he likely did not hear the snapping pop of Leslie’s crossbow which occurred a fraction of a second before the missile-like bolt drove into his left temple at approximately one hundred seventy-seven miles per hour.
* * * *
“Seems all quiet upstairs now,” said Smokie in the darkness of the cold room. “You think those broads are gone?”
“How the hell should I know?” muttered Rat, “And what damned difference does it make? If they’re gone, I’m sure they’ll come back. They still might kill us and even if they don’t, I doubt they’ll just let us go. We’re screwed.”
Smokie chuckled before replying. “I figure we’re only screwed if we stay here and whine. That’s why I think we should get the hell out of here.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?” asked Rat. “We can’t bust these damned ties, I’m buck-naked and didn’t think of hiding a blade up my ass.”
“When the bitch frisked me, she didn’t check my bandana,” Smokie replied.
“Holy shit,” exclaimed Rat with renewed hope.
Not from the best of families, Smokie had grown up surrounded by relatives for whom crime was their lot in life. Of all the members of this motley crew, his uncle Spike had been his favourite and a mentor of sorts. Early on, Smokie had begun emulating Spike as best he could, the earliest example of this being the sporting of a bandana on an all but continuous basis.
On Smokie’s tenth birthday, Uncle Spike had taken him aside and presented him with a Schrade Old Timer 18OT Mighty Mite pocket knife, identical to the one Spike himself owned. Though not a collectors’ item by any means, the value of this particular knife in Spike’s opinion was in its size, or rather, lack thereof. At only 2.75 inches in length when closed, the knife was easily concealable and, as Spike had explained, the two inch locking blade could cause serious injury to an unsuspecting adversary. He had shown Smokie how to hide the knife in the folds of his bandana, grinning as he had admitted that the reason for his ever-present headwear was mainly to hide his own blade.
Smokie had cherished the knife ever since and it had actually helped him out of a few rough spots over the years when being unarmed would likely have been hazardous to his health.
“Can you get it out?” ask Rat.
“Nada,” said Smokie. “I was hoping they’d leave my hands tied in front but they retied them behind me when we got down here. Tied my ankles too.”
“At least they let you keep your pants,” Rat grumbled as he shifted around on the concrete floor, turning his back toward Smokie. “Lie back and get your head near my hands.”
They got busy and a few minutes later, they were free of their ties.
“Now what?” asked Rat. “How the hell do we get out of here?”
“I noticed that it’s just a sliding bolt to keep the door shut,” Smokie replied. “There wasn’t even a door knob, just a handle to pull it open.”
“You noticed that? Not bad for a skinny pothead,” said Rat. “So, you think we can just smash our way out of here?”
“Yep,” Smokie confirmed, guiding Rat’s hand to a spot on the door. “If you ram right around here, I think the screws are gonna rip right out of the frame.”
“Why am I doing the ramming?” demanded Rat.
“Cuz you’re a big, strong dude,” Smokie replied, “And I’m just a skinny pothead. Ram the damned door already.”
Rat took his shoulder to the door which burst open with a crack on his third attempt.
“What’s next?” he asked as they stepped into the basement, lit only by the rapidly diminishing daylight filtering through a few narrow windows.
“Let’s see what’s back there,” Smokie suggested, pointing to a closed door near the foot of the stairs and two others beneath them.
Rat headed to the first door where he found what appeared to be a guest bedroom which also doubled as storage space. Rummaging through a few boxes, he was pleased to note they contained clothing and soon found some old Bermuda shorts and a paint stained t-shirt which fit reasonably well. The sole window, he noticed, was set with anti-theft bars, eliminating it as a possible easy exit.
He left the room just as Smokie was returning and shaking his head.
“Bathroom and a furnace room back there,” Smokie whispered. “There’s a window in the furnace room but it’s got bars. There’s a chute for firewood but it won’t open, probably padlocked outside.”
“So the only way is up,” said Rat. “I can’t hear anything up there so maybe they are gone. If they aren’t, let’s hope we can catch them by surprise.”
Chapter 22
Saturday - 8:24 p.m.
Feeling braver and tougher than what Butch had described of Razor, Fingers unlocked the front door and, following a cursory scan of the front yard in the dimming light, sauntered off toward the garage… And froze.
Sprawled facedown on the walkway, a gasoline canister lying on its side next to him, was Razor. As Fingers hurriedly closed the gap between them, he noticed the arrow protruding from the side of his associate’s head. His heartbeat doubling, he stopped and stared for a second before turning and rushing back to the safety of the house, slamming the door shut and screaming as he bolted toward the kitchen.
* * * *
At the top of the stairs, Rat slowly turned the knob and inched the door gently inward, begging the hinges to remain silent. He breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung open without a sound, revealing the darkened hallway beyond. Cautiously, he moved forward, heading toward the light emanating from the sunroom where the women had taken him hostage upon his arrival. As he drew closer, he listened but heard nothing to indicate anyone but he and Smokie were currently in the house.
Reaching the doorway, he peeked past the frame then pulled back. A petite blonde woman, perhaps in her early thirties and definitely attractive, sat at a table, her eyes fixed on the iPad before her. Glancing back at Smokie, he held up one finger, pointed toward the sunroom and motioned him forward. He then took a deep breath and rushed into the room toward her.
“Look at what I found,” he snarled, yanking her out of the chair and gripping her in a solid bear hug from behind.
“Oh, mon Dieu,” Dominique gasped in fear as she tried to struggle out of his grip without success. “Let me go.”
“Have a look around in here,” Rat directed Smokie with a head gesture, ignoring the woman’s pleas. “See if the dumb bitches left my gun somewhere.”
“Yep,” Smokie confirmed seconds later as he spotted the small pistol lying on an end table.
Rat moved toward the couch he had occupied not long before, easily carrying the writhing woman and tossing her onto it.
“Didn’t have the pleasure of meeting you before,” he said, taking the gun Smokie handed him and pointing it at her, “But I’m damned happy to meet you now. We’re gonna have a little chat first and a whole lot of fun together after.”
* * * *
Leslie couldn’t believe her luck when the second man had stepped out onto the front walk but before she could get him in her sights, he had rushed back to the safety of the house. Disappointed but far from discouraged, she started making her way back to the other three women, giving them a mobile update as she went.
“I
couldn’t get the second guy,” she reported. “He went back in too quickly. I’m coming back to join you and we’ll decide what our best bet is to get in there.”
A man’s voice came through her earpiece saying, “Look at what I found,” followed by Dominique’s, “Oh, mon Dieu. Let me go.”
“Aww, fuck,” Leslie muttered as she broke into a run. “Ladies, I’m going to help her. Stay on the call but mute your phones. He could notice her Bluetooth at any time.”
* * * *
Smokie glanced at the iPad on the table just as the screen was fading. Tapping it, the tablet came back to life and he studied it for a few seconds before turning to Rat and the woman with a grin.
“Come check this out, Rat,” he said, holding out the iPad. “The little lady was watching everything going on next door. See? There’re the three old guys in the dining room and there’s Butch with Shades and Fingers in the kitchen. Fingers is freaking out about something. Wonder what that’s about?”
“Yep, he freaking out alright,” Rat replied, staring the screen for a moment before raising his eyes to Dominique. “Hidden cameras. So that’s how your bitch friend knew about the ketchup and mustard. Butch is gonna love this. Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”
“Va te faire foutre,” Dominique replied.
“What was that?” asked Rat, taken aback.
“That was French,” Smokie replied. “We are in Quebec, ya know.”
“I know we’re in Quebec, you idiot,” Rat snapped, “But it sounded fancy how she said it, like from Paris or something.”
“Oui, Paris,” said Dominique.
“Is that where you’re from?” asked Smokie.
“Pardon?” Dominique replied, looking puzzled. “Qu’est-ce que vous dites?”
9 More Killer Thrillers Page 133